


My Lady Of Sorrows

by Faerie_Gutz



Category: Ni No Kuni: Wrath of the White Witch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hanahaki Disease, One Shot, crying and breaking down, hanahai, ivory scepter, marcassin is a simp the fanfic, theres a lot of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faerie_Gutz/pseuds/Faerie_Gutz
Summary: Confronting the one you love about your feelings can be difficult, especially when you're certain they don't love you.(Basically a oneshot where Marcassin contracts the hanahaki disease)
Relationships: Lars | Marcassin/Reinas | Cassiopeia
Kudos: 6





	My Lady Of Sorrows

Morning’s warm golden sun danced along the radiant white marble floors of the Ivory Tower. Marcassin swore this was a dream as he gazed at Queen Cassiopeia. His Queen. His Empress, The goddess of the sun and Queen of flowers. Her eyes were closed, her lashes gently kissing her cheekbones. The sun was hitting her emerald green hair perfectly, as it draped over her back. Her frail porcelain figure looked like she would shatter into a thousand pieces if she were to trip and fall. The queen opened her eyes, and smiled at the prince. Marcassin swore his heart melted, and he prayed that the feint blush on his cheeks wasn’t noticeable.

The cool night breeze gently played with Marcassin’s blue hair. He couldn’t be bothered to close the windows, not now anyway. He took yet another sip of water. This was the fourth glass. He had awoken, with an awful itching feeling in his throat. It didn’t seem to matter how much water he drank or how much he tried to cough it out, it just wouldn’t go away. Gods- the prince hoped this wasn’t what he thought it was. He downed the last of his water before giving up, accepting that the itching wouldn’t leave. He tried to stand, but instantly sat back down on the bed. His legs were trembling, and his chest felt heavy, he would probably collapse if he tried to walk. His blood was rushing so fast he thought he might rupture something, but he laid back down anyway and tried his best to fall asleep. Rest fixes everything eventually…. right?

…wrong.

The next week felt like hell. Or at least, what Marcassin imagined it would have felt like. The itching got worse and worse and he swore his lungs had turned to pure concrete. The prince was currently hosting a meeting with his most trusted members of the Royal Guard. Making his voice sound like he wasn’t straining it was incredibly difficult, he discovered as he was going over where he wanted guards positioned around the Empire. Some of them had noticed, and were looking at their prince with a concerned expression. If his strained voice didn’t give away the fact he was unwell, his complexion, pale as a ghost, sure did. His knees shook like the treetops in a thunderstorm as he stood over the table. He paused mid-sentence, and stared at the ground. Deathly silent, like a wild cobra snake stalking its prey. 

And then, he coughed into his arm.

Marcassin moved his arm away from his mouth, and he felt what little colour was left in his face melt away. There, right where he had coughed, there was a single flower petal. A white one. His throat became dryer and dryer, and the urge to cough again crept up through his lungs. He had no choice but to hold it in. He brushed the singular petal away, hopefully quick enough so none of the men would notice. “Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” he managed to spit out without coughing. As casually as he could, he made his way to the door, exited and closed it behind him. Then he ran like the wind. He would have gone to one of the palace’s bathrooms, but his royal chambers happened to be closer. He slammed the door behind him, and his legs gave way at the pure force he had applied. Marcassin collapsed. On the impact, he started to gag. He threw his hand to his throat, as he choked on air and coughed. More white petals came from down his throat, and eventually whole flowers.

They were Orchids, Queen Cassiopeia’s favourite.

Marcassin realised, this was indeed what he had been praying it wasn’t. He was head over heels in love with the Nazcaan Queen, he had accepted this, but the only issue was that Marcassin hadn’t contracted just any disease, he had one of the cruellest and painful ones known to the world. It was quite common, caused by one sided love. And the scariest part- It’s fatal. The only way to cure it is to confess your love, or to have a ritual preformed, but the survival rate of the infected is miniscule. 

Hanahaki.

Marcassin had seen the effects of this awful disease with his own eyes, had actually been part of a ritual to cure it. He would never forget the pure pain and agony on the face of that young lady, no older than sixteen. She hadn’t survived. But if the prince was suffering from it, that could only mean one thing. It was the one thing he had been praying to whatever god still cared wouldn’t happen, the one thing he’d risk everything to prevent. Queen Cassiopeia did not love him. Marcassin lifted his head to face the wall, and his vision blurred from the tears that began to drown his exquisite aqua eyes. He swore he tried to calm his breathing, which was throwing a fit, inhaling and exhaling too harshly and too quickly. He felt his heart in his throat, an excruciating dread on his chest, tugging away at his sanity. He was about to stand when another wave of flowers hit him, and he fell to his knees, choking for dear life, and his heartache only got worse when he saw the beautiful white orchids that had been growing in his lungs, feeding off his love.

The next week, Cassiopeia had decided she would visit Hamelin, and Marcassin knew she would have to stay at the palace. Where else was a queen supposed to go? His older brother would be there for a bit too, along with his two companions, Oliver and Esther. It was the first month of Autumnia’s annual monsoon, and it was bucketing down rain all over the continent. Of course, not in Hamelin, courtesy of the massive pig iron dome over the Imperial City, but if you were on the streets you could hear the feint pitter-patter of rain outside. Marcassin hadn’t even bothered to leave his room for the past three days. If anybody saw him like this, it would raise questions about who exactly he had eyes for, and the pressure that would be placed on his shoulders to cure it, one way or the other. His advisors did not care for love, they were only interested in the wellbeing of their Emperor. But, how could he blame them? It was their job. Marcassin had been continuously coughing up those white orchids, so badly that it was affecting his sleep. And he had noticed that some of the angel white flowers now had red blood staining the petals. The day seemed to drag on, while Marcassin stayed In bed, tossing and turning and trying to catch up on some sleep. But right when he was about to drift off, the itching started and then he’d be bent over the side of his bed, gagging and coughing up flowers. He sat upright, rubbing his temple. There was a thundering pounding in his head. It couldn’t go on like this. He had a kingdom to rule. He was going to make the most of it. 

After he was cleaned up and dressed, Marcassin headed to the palace library. It was his favourite room in the entire palace, ever since he was a child. Marcassin wove through the aisles, dragging his finger along the various book spines and skimming over the titles. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just whatever looked interesting and would take his mind off his sickness. He stopped at a rather thick and worn looking book. Judging by the title, it was on alchemy. He pulled it out of its place and left the aisle, making his way to the exit. He paused when he heard a sweet female voice. “Good morning, emperor. Or should I say afternoon?” Marcassin knew that voice anywhere. Hit was burnt into his brain and he heard it in his dreams. He turned around, faking a smile but it didn’t take long at all for it to become a genuine one when he saw that beautiful face of Queen Cassiopeia. “Good afternoon, Cassiopeia. I apologise for my…uhm…lack of presence. I’ve been unwell.” Cassiopeia blinked. “Oh, so you’re feeling better now?” No. The pounding in his head got worse each second he laid eyes on her, and he could feel another orchid blossom inside his lungs with each tone of her melodic voice. “Yes,” he lied. “Excuse me, but I have to attend to…. Business. Emperor stuff.” Marcassin mentally slapped himself. Really? Was that the best he could come up with? That was the most un-believable lie he’d ever told. Cassiopeia nodded slowly, but gave him a weird look. “Alright… take care.” Marcassin exited, walking quickly but hopefully not quickly enough to raise suspicion. 

He clutched the book to his chest. It appears that being in Cassiopeia’s presence only made his condition worse.   
Marcassin had returned to his room, after deciding it was the best course of action for now. He kept his nose buried in his book, which made him feel just a little better, but he would still occasionally cough up a flower or two. He ran his fingers through his hair, while scared that the second he took his eyes off the words, the pounding in his head would return. 

But then there was a knock at the door. 

Marcassin froze, praying that if he didn’t answer, whoever it was would leave. The pounding returned, and he rubbed his temples, each pound feeling like a hammer on the inside of his skull. The knock came again, but this time, his brother said, “Marc. I know you’re in there,” from the other side. “You’ve been in there for days. You haven’t been like this since you were brokenhearted.” Marcassin swallowed, his throat screaming at him. “I’m sorry, Gascon.”  
“For what?”   
Marcassin’s eyes teared up, and his breathing quickened. “Brother, I’ve been keeping something for you.” He stood up, and hauled open the door to find a rather confused Swaine. “Marcassin… you look awful. Are you unwell?” The prince slowly pulled his brother inside, closing the door. “Yes.” He said at last, wiping a few tears from his cheek. “H-How so?” Swaine stuttered. His little brother sighed, before sticking two fingers down his throat. “What are you-“ Swaine’s voice trailed off as Marcassin began to cough and gag, until a white orchid fell out of his mouth and onto his hand. He looked at his brother with somewhat cold and dead eyes. Swaine felt the colour drain from his face. “Marcassin… i-is this….” 

His brother blinked, his expression dead and neutral. “Hanahaki.”

Swaine began to pace back and forth. “Marcassin… This is going to kill you. Y-You have to- you have to tell whoever you’re in love with.” Marcassin only breathed. “I know what I have to do. Please calm d-“  
“Who is it?”  
“What?”  
“Who is causing this to happen to you?”  
Marcassin frowned, a feint blush on his cheeks. “I don’t see why that’s important. Don’t you dare go and say anything. It will only make my situation worse. Not to mention, you will torment me.” Swaine gave his foot a slight stomp out of impatience and frustration. “I don’t care who you love, okay? Do you really think it would be appropriate for me to tease you when you’re going to die?” He cooled his temper, sighing. “I just want to know who it is, because I’m going to help you. I’m going to help you confess to them and save your life.” Marcassin blinked, and once again wiped away the few tears that had leaked from his eyes yet again. “I-I suppose…It would be unfair of me to hide yet another thing from you.” He sighed, and put his hands over his face. “It’s Cassiopeia, okay? I love Cassiopeia.” Swaine’s eyes widened. “Like- as in the white witch?” Marcassin nodded, his face red as a cherry. Swaine smiled, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, It’s alright. I’m going to help you confess. I promise I won’t tell her about any of this or even hint at it. That’s for you.” Marcassin only nodded, trying desperately to hold back his tears. Swaine turned to leave, but then turned back, pulling his brother into a hug. “I’m… I’m sorry that this had to happen to you. I can’t imagine the pain. But we will cure you. I promise.” He then turned away, exiting the room and closing the door. Marcassin stood there for a while, letting everything sink in. He then broke down his barrier and let the tears stream down his cheeks. He was shaking and his hands were jittery. He collapsed to the floor, unable to do anything other than cry and shake. You are weak, he told himself. His chest felt heavier than a load of bricks and he felt his stomach turn as he couldn’t help but cry. He had to end this.

And he would.

It had been almost a week and Marcassin’s condition had not improved. Swaine had come around every few days to check up on his brother, and occasionally throw him a bit of advice on how to tell Cassiopeia about his feelings. Marcassin's time was running out. Each breath he took sent sharp pain shooting through his lungs, and his sleep had not improved in the slightest. He knew that soon Cassiopeia would be returning to the Ivory Tower, and that if he wanted to do this the easy way, he’d have to talk to her. And soon. It was time for him to prove to himself that he wasn’t weak. He wasn’t useless. 

Marcassin sure hoped he was right, because he had just sent a messenger to fetch her. 

It didn’t take long before there was a knock on the door. Marcassin swiftly opened it and ushered the queen inside and closed the door before she even had time to say hello. “What’s the matter?” the said with a concerned tone. Marcassin sighed. “I’m sorry for rushing you in here, but there’s something I have to say.” His voice sounded like he had been smoking a pack a day for the last twenty years. “My apologies for not telling you sooner, but… t-there’s something I haven’t told you. It explains why I’ve become a bit of a shut-in as of late.” Cassiopeia’s usual smile was slowly fading. “Are you okay?” Marcassin began to shake once again. Don’t freeze up, the little voice in his head told him. “W-Well yes, but uh, no- I mean- I-I-I just- I need-“ His stuttering was interrupted by coughing. He began to choke harder and harder until he turned his head and coughed up more white orchids. Cassiopeia had one of the most horrified looks on her face that he’d ever seen. “Oh my goodness…. you’ve- wait, are those orchids? White ones too. Marcassin, those are my favourite. B-But” She looked down at her feet. “That- That can only mean- “  
“C-Cassiopeia.” Marcassin collapsed onto the floor, the pounding in his head growing louder and louder. “Cassiopeia, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” The queen didn’t know what to do. She was frozen to the spot, while Marcassin trembled on the floor. “I- Cassiopeia, I’m in love with you. I’m sorry, I really am, I-I just-“ He broke down mid-sentence, crying both from utter fear and relief, because the pounding was gradually growing quieter and his throat had stopped itching. It was over; he was cured. The Queen kneeled down. She placed a hand on Marcassin’s cheek, wiping away his tears with her thumb. “No. I’m the one that should be sorry. I did this to you.” She stared to sob quietly. “A-All I’ve ever done is cause you pain.” 

“No, Cassie, That’s not-“

Cassiopeia slowly stood up, and turned away. “It’s no wonder I was alone.”


End file.
